Daryl Dixon: The Red Poncho
by AdmiralOnDeck
Summary: Out on a run, Daryl Dixon responds to the dire cries of trapped strangers. Now, he's trapped, trying to escape and unknown to him, he's about to discover an infamous, red poncho. Discover the story of how Daryl Dixon looted one of his calling cards while fleeing for his life from ravenous walkers as they tried to turn him to their side.


It was the uneven footstep, that's what gave it away. Humans' footfalls were purposeful – walkers stumbled like an alcoholic leaving their favorite bar after last call. He was glad it was walkers. Walkers were straightforward, humans were risky business.

 _If walkers learned how to walk quietly,_ Daryl thought, _we'd be really screwed._

Daryl leaned against the cold, metal door of the room he was trapped in with his ear listening, his callused hand on the handle. He figured there five, maybe six on the other side of the door in the hallway.

He was only in this situation because he answered the screams of death that have become too common while he was scavenging a store across the street. He tried to help the desperate strangers but the blood still training from their bodies behind him, along with the bodies of a few walkers, clearly indicated he was late to help, again. And now he was trapped, dealing with the problem their cries had evoked, unable to get out the way he had come in.

Based upon the sounds in the hallway, the walkers were all past the door and still moving on. It was time for a closer look.

He slowly turned the handle and opened the old door. There were a few creaks, but they couldn't be helped. As soon as there was space, he poked his head out and stole a look down the dark hallway.

He was right – the group of walkers had stumbled past the door to the left. So, Daryl went right.

One eye peering down the sights of his crossbow, the other squinting down the hallway, he crept out of the room and along the wall. As he moved, he noticed more bodies of recently killed people. The blood was fresh. They must have been in a group with the people back in the room. He had to move quickly and get out of here before they started to turn.

He reached the end of the hallway and peered around the corner. The exit was at the end of this hallway - the light at the end of the tunnel, literally. His body began to relax but he knew that was a bad instinct. Usually the last leg of a run was the most dangerous, and if someone let their guard down, that's when people got killed.

He took another look. All clear. Before moving on, he looked back at the walkers he evaded earlier and saw they were still moving away from him, hopefully chasing a rat. Daryl leaned again the wall, took a deep breath to focus himself, and sprung around the corner, crossbow up.

There was a partially open door on his left. He slid along the cool, concrete wall until he got to the doorframe and then paused, listening. He didn't hear anything so he looked into the room. Men's and women's clothes were stacked across the room. Daryl could see shirts, flannels, a couple ponchos, and some jeans by the looks of things. This could come in handy to the group – all of Rick's shirts were starting to smell. He took a step into the room.

As soon as he did, a walker lunged at him from the side. He didn't have time to turn and shoot so he shoved the walker back and then backed into the hallway, leveling his crossbow as he went. He waited.

The walker stumbled into his sights, it was missing an eye, and Daryl let loose. The bolt pierced the walkers nostril and the walker dropped to the floor.

Daryl started to reload his crossbow but a sound caught his eye. He looked up. Another walker, with half its face missing, was exiting the room. Luckily, it got caught up on the body of the first walker that dropped and slowed, giving Daryl time to let his crossbow fall to the ground and draw his knife.

Rather than wait for the walker to get its footing, Daryl launched at it. His hand found its blood streaked throat and gripped it tightly, holding its head still. Less than a heartbeat later, his knife plunged into the walker's temple, collapsing its skull.

Before Daryl could take a breath, another walker lunged at him from the room. With teeth leading, it aimed for his exposed forearm. He let go of his knife that was still in the half-faced walkers skull. He jerked his arm back. The walker bit. It missed by an inch.

Daryl kicked out and knocked the lunging walker off balance. Taking advantage, he moved forward and, careful not to trip on the other two walker corpses already piling up on the ground, he grabbed the walker by the skull and bashed its head into the wall. It started moaning.

He bashed it again. Blood ran down the walkers head and his arms.

He bashed it again. His fingers were now inside the walkers skull.

He bashed it one last time for good measure. The walkers head fell apart. Bits of blood, brain, and skull flew everywhere.

He was breathing heavily; sweat was dripping down his face. That had been too close. He took a few more steadying breathes. Then, he knelt down and wiped his hands on the clothes of the walker with the broken head. Daryl collected his knife, reloaded his crossbow and was about to step into the room when he heard something. He paused and listened.

To be clear, he heard more than one something, he heard five or six something's. His encounter here must have been louder than he thought. The walkers he had avoided earlier were coming back and by the sound of things, weren't that far away.

He ducked into the room with the clothes to take a quick inventory. As he suspected, there were clothes that the rest of the group could use. He threw off his worn bag and started stuffing it full with clothes. When it was full, he yanked the zipper close and was about to throw it back on when a red poncho caught his eye. It looked similar to one he had owned before the world had went to shit but Merle had burnt it one night when he got wasted.

He grabbed it, threw it over his head and tossed on his stuffed bag. He could hear the enthusiastic moans and stumbling footfalls getting louder. Not wanting to linger any longer, he darted out the door.

As soon as he did, he saw the first of the walkers come around the corner. No more time for being quiet. The bowman rushed to the exit with six walkers hustling after him.

Daryl reached the exit door unopposed but he could still hear the walkers close behind him. He started to open the door but glass from the shattered door was scattered across the floor, his boots slipping. At last, he finally got the door open and slipped outside. There was nothing nearby to bar the door with, so he sprinted for his bike.

Standing near his bike, a one-armed, mumbling walker turned to face him.

 _Where do all of these guys come from?_ thought Daryl.

He leveled his crossbow, aimed, and squeezed the trigger.

His shot was on target. It pierced the walkers skull and the walker dropped.

Daryl leapt on his bike, started it, and sped away, his red poncho streaming behind him.


End file.
